


Taking Care

by RowboatCop



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, May is terrible at being sick, Melinda May is a terrible cook, and Andrew has chosen to find that adorable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 19:29:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5139800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/pseuds/RowboatCop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, Five Times May and Andrew Have Taken Care of Each Other </p><p>Hurt/Comfort and Fluff and Meldrew being sick and injured and sweet to each other, basically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Care

1.

She sucks in a painful breath when he lowers her down onto her bed, but pastes on a stoic expression to cover it. He’s glad the SHIELD medic got her out of her field uniform because he’s pretty sure trying to undress her would cause her shoulder a lot of pain.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Fine.”

Melinda nods, but she’s holding herself so unnaturally still that it freaks him out.

“I could get you something?”

This isn’t Andrew’s forte, not exactly, caring for secret agents who have been shot, and he can’t help but wonder what the hell he’s gotten himself into with this woman.

“I’m fine, really. I just need to rest.”

“Water. I’ll get you some water so you can take your pain medication.”

“That’s...” She looks frustratingly reluctant, but nods, and her face softens so she looks more like the woman he’s been getting to know. “Yes, please. That would...that would be really great.”

He’s not terribly familiar with her apartment, yet, but he knows where the cups are, so it doesn’t take him long to fumble his way through the kitchen and return to her bedroom with a glass of water and her prescription bottle.

She smiles at him, too grateful for such a small gesture, and takes her pill.

“I don’t usually have someone around to help me when I get hurt.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t usually help people with gunshot wounds.”

“You’re pretty good at it.”

“Oh yeah? So you think you’ll keep me around?”

“I might.”

He smiles down at her and tucks her covers tight around her shoulders.

“How about I come back in the morning and make you pancakes?”

“I think I’ll definitely keep you.”

He kisses her softly, smiling against her lips when she responds.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he promises.

“Good,” she sighs, and he hangs back for just a moment, watching as she relaxes into her pillow.

  


2.

“You...shouldn’t have.”

Melinda frowns at his lack of enthusiasm for her eggs, which are brown and dry, and sets the plate down on his dresser.

“I’m sorry.” She wrinkles her nose in the direction of the eggs. “I just wanted to help.”

“I know you did. But honestly, I’m _fine_. I promise.”

“So you want me to go home?”

She sounds hurt by that, and Andrew shakes his head.

“No,” he admits because he really doesn’t; he quite likes it when she’s here all weekend, quite likes finding her things mixed in with his own. “I want you to stay. But I’m fine, I don’t need…”

“You were so good at taking care of me when I was hurt, though.”

“This is just a sprained ankle, Melinda, not a gunshot wound.”

“Hmmm,” she hits him with a playfully serious look, like she’s deeply contemplating what to do, and walks around to the foot of the bed.

From her new position, she leans forward touches his feet with gentle fingers, not enough to hurt, just enough to tease him through the blanket. Slowly, she works her hands up, bypassing his injured ankle to run her hands up his covered calves.

“And what do you do for someone with a sprained ankle?”

She’s wearing a low cut tank top with nothing underneath, so when she crawls up onto the foot of the bed, bending over him provocatively, it...provokes.

“You could come up here with me,” he suggests.

“And then what?”

Melinda teases him even as she crawls up the bed, tugging the covers down and exposing his bare chest and boxer shorts.

“You’re a creative woman. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that.”

She laughs and swings a leg over his hips so she’s straddling him, but when he reaches down to get his hands on her, she grabs them and pushes them beside his head, pinning them against his pillow.

He exhales a shuddering, aroused breath, and Melinda leans down to kiss him, resting her slight weight against his open palms. Andrew kisses back easily, opening for her as she maps his mouth and her hips begin to shift over his groin.

“Melinda,” he grunts as her hips slide over his, and she pulls back just enough to nip at his lower lip.

“Shhh,” he hears, and then her lips move to his jaw, kissing a soft trail towards his ear. “Just let me take care of you.”

Andrew groans and gives up control to her, relaxing back against his pillow as her lips begin a slow trail down his chest.

  


3.

“You’re back,” he whispers, voice too husky as he greets her when she pops her head in the door.

“I’m back,” she agrees. “And I brought chicken soup.”

Andrew sits up in bed as she fully enters the room, balancing a bowl on a handled tray. He bites back a smile, forces a look of skepticism.

“You didn’t cook it, did you?”

Melinda rolls her eyes.

“No. Coulson sent it home with me.”

“Oh, good, then,” he grins at her, and she shakes her head, mouth pulled into a fake scowl even though her eyes don’t stop sparkling at him.

“You’re not as cute as you think you are, you know,” she teases, setting the tray down across his lap.

“No?”

He smiles up at her, and she can’t hold her fake scowl anymore; instead, she grins at him and plants a soft kiss against his forehead.

“How do you feel?”

“Better,” he answers, though his too-husky voice still sounds wrong. “How was your day?”

“Good,” Melinda whispers against the top of his head, presses another kiss there before pulling back. “I was worried about you.”

He wants to tell her never to worry about him, not when she’s in the field getting shot at, but he holds it back. Instead, he lets himself feel the gratitude that comes every time this perfect woman reminds him how much he means to her.

“Eat,” she directs him as she curls into the bed beside him, back against the headboard and eyes locked on him as he brings a spoonful of soup to his mouth.

“This is amazing,” he sighs after a first slurp. “Thank you.”

“You should thank Coulson,” she corrects him. “It’d probably make his year.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He chews through a chunk of carrot as she watches.

“Tell me about your day,” he requests, and as he keeps eating she does — a quiet, comforting, normal kind of ritual that warms him as much as the soup.

  


4.

“I remember, now, why I hate _Friends_ ,” Melinda whines.

It’s been a four hour rerun marathon on some cable network, and he doesn’t blame her for being tired of it — he’s tired of it, too, but mid afternoon daytime television is a cruel mistress.

“Do you want to change the channel?”

“No,” she grumbles.

She’s awful at being sick, whines like a child, and he should probably be annoyed with her.

Melinda being sick like a child, though, just makes him think of their plans for the future, of children who are part Melinda, and he can’t help but smile.

“What are you smiling about? This is your fault, you know.”

“I know,” he agrees.

He picked the restaurant that gave them food poisoning, that’s kept them locked in the house for the last four days. They’re finally much better, but it’s only better enough to really feel the boredom — and the hunger — without being better enough to actually _do_ anything about it.

“Come here,” Andrew offers, leaning back on the arm of the sofa and making room for her between his legs. She looks suspicious of him for a moment, and then nods and crawls up to lounge against him, cuddled into his chest.

The bouts of sweating and nausea mean they haven’t touched a whole lot this week, and it’s really nice to feel her up against him.

“You’re pretty comfortable,” Melinda sighs as she nuzzles into his neck.

“At least I’m good for something,” he half-laughs.

“Hmm, you’re good for lots of things,” she acknowledges, teasing him with the first real smile he’s seen in four days.

“Glad to hear it.”

“There’s no one I’d rather be sick with,” she whispers against his skin.

“Me, either.”

Andrew leans down enough to press a kiss against the top of her head, and she falls asleep on his shoulder as the next episode of _Friends_ starts. He spares a longing glance at the remote control, out of reach on the coffee table, but just wraps his arms tighter around her and settles in for another hour of the marathon.

  


5.

He finds her looking in on Bobbi’s room in the Playgrounds medical facility — at Bobbi fighting for her life and at Lance Hunter asleep in the chair beside the hospital bed.

“Melinda,” he calls her attention away from the other couple, but when she looks at him he can tell that for a long moment she’s not seeing him.

He can see the moment she processes his presence from the way her stoic mask slightly crumbles.

“Andrew,” she finally sighs, and hugs him tightly.

He’s slower to wrap his arms around her, like he can’t quite trust that this is real, like if he squeezes too tight she might vanish in a puff of smoke.

She doesn’t, though. She’s solid and real as he squeezes his arms around her.

“He tortured Bobbi and shot her. Coulson...his hand. I still don’t know what happened to Skye.”

She's trembling.

“Hey,” he pushes her back just enough to see her face, to curl his hands around her shoulders. “Let’s focus on taking care of you for a minute, okay?”

She swallows, and he thinks for a moment she’s going to fight it, but she just nods.

“I’m so tired.” He can see it in every line in her body, in the way her eyes look suspiciously wet. “Andrew, I’m so tired.”

“Let’s get you to bed,” he suggests gently; she nods and leads him towards her quarters.

He looks away as she strips off her field uniform, down to a black tank and a pair of high cut bikini briefs, and then tucks her into bed.

“Thank you for coming.”

Her voice is soft, almost broken.

“I’ll always come for you; you know that.”

And maybe because of old times or maybe because she clearly needs it now, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to her forehead.

“You won’t leave?” She asks as he stands up.

“No. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Good,” she sighs, and he hangs back for just a moment, watching as she relaxes into her pillow.

 


End file.
